Room 9 and Other Ghost Stories

by Amy Cross

  “Go to hell!” a voice yells out in the corridor, breaking my concentration.

  I turn and look back across the darkened room, just as footsteps storm along the corridor outside.

  “Get back here!” the same voice shouts. It's a woman, and she sounds mad. A moment later, I hear a second set of footsteps hurrying past the door. “Don't you dare walk away from me!”

  “Shut up,” I mutter under my breath, worried that these idiots are going to scare any manifestations away. “Just shut the hell up.”

  “Don't you ignore me!” the woman shouts, and suddenly the footsteps come to an abrupt halt. “We have to talk about this!”

  “There's nothing to talk about,” a man replies with a sigh, and I sigh too as I realize that they're right outside the door. “This was a mistake.”

  “You can't say that!” the woman hisses, and suddenly she sounds like she's pleading with him, as if all the strength has ebbed from her voice. “Babe, let's go back to the room and talk about this!”

  “Go away!” I say with another sigh, as I realize that these two morons seem to have settled outside the door for a prolonged argument. I turn and look back at the spectrometer, convinced that I can just block out the sound of the voices and focus on my work, but the argument continues and finally I realize I have no choice.

  Setting the spectrometer down, I hurry across the room and pull the door open.

  The arguing couple immediately fall silent and turn to look at me.

  “Can you do this somewhere else?” I ask.

  I wait for a reply, or them to just go away, but now they're staring at me slack-jawed and open-mouthed.

  “It's two in the morning,” I point out, “and you woke me up.”

  Again I wait for a reply, but after a moment I realize they're both looking past me. Turning, I see that the bed is covered in equipment.

  “I wasn't asleep,” I continue, turning back to them. “I was working. I am working, I'm trying to work right now, but I can't do that if you're out here arguing like this. Can't you go to your room?”

  “Who asked you for your opinion?” the woman replies, putting her hands on her hips. “What are you doing eavesdropping on people, anyway? Are you some kind of freak?”

  “You're right outside my door.”

  “So? It's a free country.”

  “I'm trying to get some very important work done. You wouldn't understand.”

  “Oh? And why not?”

  “It's complicated, but please, can you just go and have your pointless argument somewhere else? I'm sure I'm not the only person you've been disturbing.”

  Sneering, the woman looks me up and down as if she's seriously unimpressed.

  “Please?” I continue, trying to remain tactful and diplomatic in the face of this provocation. “I'm sure you'd rather have your argument in private, wouldn't you?”

  “What the hell is all that stuff on your bed?” the man asks.

  “It's scientific equipment,” I tell him.

  “For what?”

  “For some studies I'm trying to carry out.”

  “What kind of studies?”

  “You wouldn't understand.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “I don't have time for this,” I continue with a sigh, aware that I'm starting to sound rude but not really able to stop myself. “Come on, you don't seriously want to be arguing out here in public, do you? It'd be better for everyone if you just went back to your room.” Realizing that this discussion is never going to end well, I take a step back. “Sorry. I didn't mean to interfere. I'm just trying to get my work done, and so far there have been a lot of interruptions. I hope you understand.”

  With that, I swing the door shut and turn to head back to the bathroom, but then I stop a fraction of a second later as I hear the argument starting up again.

  “For God's sake,” I mutter, turning and pulling the door open again, “will you just -”

  And they're gone.

  In the blink of an eye, in the time between turning the handle and opening the door, the man and woman have disappeared. Their voices cut off in an instant, as if one moment they were there and the next they were gone. Stepping forward, I look both ways along the corridor, and I can't quite believe that they could have simply vanished so quickly. I wait, half-expecting to hear them arguing again in the distance, but they really seem to be gone.

  Finally, figuring I don't need to worry about them, I shut the door and head back to the bathroom. I can't spend my time fussing over a couple of arguing idiots. I've got ghosts to find.

  4:10am

  “Mommy's going to be watching you, okay?” she says, with tears streaming down her face as she runs a hand through my hair. “Never forget that. Mommy's going to see everything. You'll never be alone.”

  “But why do you have to go?” I ask, staring at the array of wires and tubes that run into her body from various machines. Most of them snake under the bed-sheets, but I know that they're carrying fluids in and out of her.

  She's been like this for months now, ever since she was first brought to the hospital.

  After a moment, realizing she hasn't replied, I look up at her face and see that somehow, impossibly, there are even more tears running down her face now. She looks so pale, with just a hint of yellow in her complexion, and the makeshift white turban around her head has begun to come loose. I saw the whole thing come off once, and I saw that she'd completely bald apart from a few straggly black hairs. I don't want to see that again.

  There's blood on her lips.

  I know her gums are bleeding.

  “Did Grandma talk to you last night?” she asks, her voice trembling with tears.

  I hesitate for a moment, before nodding.

  “And did she tell you...”

  She takes a deep breath, as if she's still trying to hold back even more tears.

  “Did she tell you that you're going to live with her from now on?”

  “But I don't want to live with her,” I reply. “I want to live with you. Why can't we keep living together in our house?”

  “You'll be happy with Grandma.”

  “But -”

  “Don't argue about it, Paula.” She runs her hand down through my hair and onto my face, letting her fingers brush against my cheek for a moment. “My sweet, gorgeous little baby girl. You're going to be just fine, I know it. You're going to grow up and follow your dreams. You can be anything you want. You know that, right? You can be anything and do anything.”

  “I want to go home. I want us both to go home.”

  “You can't do that. You'll go home with Grandma today.”

  “But -”

  “And I'll always, always be watching over you.”

  I open my mouth to reply, before realizing that something feels very strange about this situation. My head is a little dizzy, and I'm certain I've been in this exact same hospital room before. Glancing at the machines, I can't help noticing that the bags of white chemicals have all been taken away, and I think I overheard one of the nurses earlier talking about how there's nothing more they can do for Mommy. After a moment I turn back and see that Mommy is still crying as she stares at me, and I can feel her fingertips brushing against the side of my face.

  “I'm going to be watching over you,” I tell her finally.

  “Is that right?”

  I nod. “When you're gone, I'm going to come find you.”

  “Honey -”

  “I am!” I say firmly, feeling as if I might start crying if I don't raise my voice. “I know you won't go away, not really. Even if they tell me you're gone, I won't believe them. And I don't know how, but one day when I'm grown up, I'm going to find you and see you again.” I take a deep breath, and again I feel as if tears are rippling up through my chest, getting ready to come out through my eyes. “I'll find you, Mommy,” I continue. “Even if you don't believe me, that doesn't matter. Because I will find you, wherever you go. I promise.”

  As those words l
eave my lips, I open my eyes and see a dark ceiling above me, with just a hint of light cast from the bedside lamp. For a moment, I have no idea where I am, but then all of a sudden I remember.

  Sitting up, I realize that I must have fallen asleep for a few minutes. I check my watch, and fortunately it's only 3:29am, which means I can't have nodded off for long. I only came over to the bed so I could get my thoughts together, and then I guess I let my eyes close for a moment and off I went. If I hadn't been lucky, I might have ended up sleeping all the way through until morning, wasting the entire night. I swing my legs off the side of the bed, determined to get up so that there's no risk of falling asleep again, and then suddenly I pause as I remember my dream.

  I saw her again.

  I saw Mom, in her hospital bed.

  Half dream, half memory. Closing my eyes, I take a series of deep breaths, trying to get rid of that tense, anxious sensation that always fills my chest after I've seen Mom in my dreams. I don't have time for this right now, I have to stay strong, but it still takes a couple of minutes before I open my eyes again and stare down at my feet.

  “I'll find you, Mommy,” I hear my own, younger voice saying in the back of my mind. “Wherever you go. I promise.”

  It's more than a decade since she died, but that promise still stands. I will prove that ghosts exist, and this motel is my best chance right now. If I can find the ghost of Gwendoline Emmervessy and communicate with her, then I can find any ghost in the world. Once I've seen a strong ghost, I can learn how it works and then I can find other ghosts. Weaker ghosts, with no history of haunting. I can make contact with Mom. First, though, I need to lay the groundwork and pick some low-hanging fruit, which is why I'm here at the motel. Lots of people claim to have encountered Gwendoline's ghost over the years. With all this equipment, I should have no trouble at all.

  Hauling myself up off the bed, I wander through to the bathroom, figuring that I should probably splash some water on my face and try to wake up a little. Once I'm at the sink, I let the water run really cold for a good couple of minutes before leaning down and forcing myself to go through with this mild torture. Sure enough, the water is cold enough to make me gasp, but I keep splashing myself until I feel properly awake and then I stand up straight. Opening my eyes, I look into the mirror and -

  There's someone behind me.

  Spinning around, I back into the sink and raise my hands, ready to defend myself. I don't see anyone now, but I know that just a moment ago I saw the reflection of a dark, tilting figure that seemed to be rushing this way and reaching for my shoulders.

  I didn't see his face, but I'm sure he was a he. I don't know how I know that. I just know.

  “Hello?” I call out, still worried that someone might have broken into the room but also starting to wonder whether I might have made my first contact with something more spectral.

  The figure can't have been Gwendoline Emmervessy, but perhaps there are other people who've died here in room nine. Or perhaps, just perhaps, I saw whoever killed her.

  So many possibilities are rushing through my mind right now, it's hard to narrow them down.

  “Hello?” I say again, keeping my hands raised still. “Is anyone here? I don't want to hurt you, I just want to help. Please, if you're here can you give me a sign? Anything...”

  My voice trails off.

  Now that my heart isn't racing quite so fast, I can think straight. I'm certain the figure wasn't an intruder. Instead, I think I really did just go through a Stage 4.5 paranormal encounter. A few years ago I came up with my own scale for measuring these things, and a stage 4 encounter is a clear, unambiguous sighting of a figure at close quarters. The .5 part comes from the fact that it was so quick, and also the fact that I only saw the figure reflected in the mirror.

  Still, as I step forward and make my way over to the side of the bath, I realize that as well as seeing the figure, I think I heard something too.

  A gasp.

  A pained groan, almost as if the figure was somehow injured.

  In fact, the more I think about it, the more I feel certain that the figure's stumbling gait indicated something was wrong. I've never quite figured out the rules regarding apparitions, but I know that sometimes they manifest with any injuries that they suffered at the time of their death. This particular figure seemed almost to be lunging at me, or perhaps trying to grab my shoulders for support. My research never revealed any sign that another person died here in room nine, but I suppose there could have been someone whose death predated the incident with Gwendoline.

  Maybe I've ended up with two ghosts for the price of one.

  “My name is Paula,” I say out loud, trying once again to sound calm and collected. “I'm a paranormal researcher and I just want to speak to you, or see you. There's no need to be afraid. I might even be able to help you. Can you just appear or...”

  Again, my voice trails off.

  What do I have to offer?

  What could a ghost possibly want from me? I'm no-one. At the same time, there might be some kind of entity waiting here and listening to me.

  “I know I'm not a priest or anything,” I continue, “but maybe I can act as some kind of conduit. If you want me to deliver a message to someone who's still alive, I can do that. Or if you want me to bring someone here, maybe I could do that too. But first you're going to have to let me see you or hear you. That has to be the first step.”

  I wait.

  Silence.

  “Come on,” I mutter under my breath, “just appear. I know you were murdered in this room. I know it. I just want to -”

  Suddenly I hear a bump in the bedroom. I rush to the doorway and look through, but I don't see anyone and all my equipment seems undisturbed. Still, I'm starting to think that maybe I'm getting closer to a breakthrough, so I hurry to the bed and grab my spectrometer. Turning it on, I wave the receiver in the air, searching for any kind of signal. There's nothing so far, but that doesn't necessarily mean there's no presence here. In fact, as I head back toward the bathroom door, I'm starting to realize that I feel a little cold.

  No, more than a little.

  The room definitely just chilled a few degrees.

  Patches of cold air are a classic sign of paranormal activity. I mean, that's no great insight, it's something you could even learn from watching a dumb movie.

  I open my mouth to call out again, but suddenly I notice that the needle on the spectrometer has begun to move slightly, wobbling just a little above zero. That could just be an anomaly, of course, so I hold the spectrometer out a little further until the tip is in the bathroom, and now the needle moves a little more, reaching almost one third of the way along the dial.

  That's no anomaly.

  That's a result.

  I'm not alone here in room nine.

  It's official.

  “Don't go away,” I whisper, terrified in case I do or say anything that chases the spirit from the room. “Stay with me.”

  Stepping back, not daring to make too much noise, I reach down to the bed and pick up my digital frequency viewer, which is basically a re-purposed digital camera. I set down my other equipment and then I hold the camera up, while adjusting the settings based on the temperature. I have a theory that temperature fluctuations impact the ability to capture images, and right now an apparition could phase into view at any moment.

  I've been working my whole life for this moment.

  I turn slowly, watching the camera in case there's any flicker of a presence on the screen.

  And then I look at the open bathroom door, and I see her.

  There's a woman in the bathtub. She's not bloody, not like in the crime-scene photos. Instead, she's just resting in the tub, leaning back with her hair tied to keep it out of the water.

  It's Gwendoline Emmervessy.

  I've prepared for this moment, but I have to admit that right now I'm momentarily too stunned and shocked to know how I should react. There are loads of pieces of equipment I could g
rab, of course, but I'm worried that any sudden movement might cause this spirit to vanish before my eyes. Maybe if I wait, and let her linger for a while, she'll somehow become more real, and then maybe I can talk to her, and then maybe...

  Okay, one step at a time.

  I can see her right now, and that's what matters. So far, she's given no indication that she's aware of me.

  A moment later, without really thinking, I take a slow and very cautious step toward the bathroom door. Then another. And another.

  I'm so glad I took my shoes off earlier.

  My feet are barely making any sound at all as I walk, sock-footed, across the carpeted room.

  I'm even holding my breath.

  As I get to the door and look into the brightly-lit bathroom, I see that there's even steam rising from the tub. In fact, looking around, I realize that the whole room looks somehow more clean and well-maintained, as if I'm seeing it how it was on the night Gwendoline Emmervessy died. The faucet is no longer dripping, and there are no cracks on the tiles, and even the paint on the walls seems fresh and new. I might as well have traveled back all those years to the night when Gwendoline Emmervessy checked into this motel.

  Turning to her, I see that her eyes are closed as she rests in the bathtub.

  My lips move slightly.

  I almost say something, but then I hold back.

  Raising the camera, I aim it at the tub, and I see that it's capturing the exact same image that I'm seeing. I hesitate for a moment, worrying about the sound I might make when I press the button, but then finally I take a photo, then another, and then a third, all without disturbing the presence in the bathtub.

  Oh God.

  This is actually happening.

  I wait, but Gwendoline looks so utterly calm and peaceful, as if she's enjoying the bath. She's leaning back as steam continues to rise from the water, and I almost feel bad for disturbing her. Knowing what eventually happened to her, how she was butchered right here in this room, I watch her face and try to imagine what must be going through her mind. And then, just as I'm starting to wonder what I should do next, her eyes slip partially open and she looks straight at me.